“Some dramatic changes there,” Februaren observed.
The entire Realm of the Gods had grown less gloomy. The waterfront town had returned to life. Color had wakened everywhere, like a spring that renewed every aspect of the world. The ship of the gods had gone from dangerous derelict to opulent barge.
A boat was tied up in front of that, its mast the only evidence of its presence from where Februaren stood. He paid it no mind.
“More changes will come. If the power continues leaking through. This world is still a long way from what it was. But.” He stopped the old man, turned him, pointed.
Februaren looked up the mountain. Clouds obscured the Great Sky Fortress, incompletely. They came into being off to the right, whipped past the home of the gods as though riding a mighty wind, then dematerialized again to the left. They waxed and waned quickly.
“The bridge!” Februaren blurted. “The Aelen Kofer have restored the rainbow bridge!” The rainbow bridge, bright and beautiful, arced right up to the fortress gate.
“Pretty much. You can walk across now. If you want to go try.”
“I want. Very much.” The Great Sky Fortress itself showed signs of rejuvenation. “If this ancient flesh can survive the climb.” His turn sideways trick did not work inside the Realm of the Gods, even with the gateway open. He could jump in from outside. Once inside he had to walk. Even to the gateway to get back out. Though taking the barge left his clothing a little less damp.
“The Aelen Kofer have a goat cart that can take you up, when you decide you have to go.”
“But we’re headed somewhere else, now. Aren’t we?”
“We are. To the barge.”
Their destination proved to be a family, five members, all pallid, bony, and blond where they had any hair. A grandfather. His daughter. Her husband. Their children, boy, girl, eleven and eight. A lone Aelen Kofer watched them. Februaren did not recognize the dwarf. The ascendant dispensed with introductions. “These people escaped across the Ormo Strait. Former followers of the Windwalker. They found a boat, fled, and turned up here.” He exchanged glances with Februaren, so the old man knew he was not without reservations.
“I see. Unusual, that.”
“Yes. But the Windwalker has shown no knack for inspiring fanaticism. His worshippers execute his will because what lies ahead is less terrible than what pushes from behind. Kharoulke is a Punisher kind of god.”
“Not so many of any other kind,” Februaren said. “Can we talk to them?”
“Bluntnose has the dialect. It was spoken in Andoray before the Old Ones arrived, dragging us along.”
“Seatt?”
“One of those tongues.”
“I thought the Seatts were squat and brown.”
“Some were. The name includes all of the ancient tribes of the farthest north. These people… It doesn’t matter. Their ancestors were entirely surrendered to the Will of the Night. Their sorcery served the Windwalker and his kin. They lost their lands and gods when the Andorayans came. This crew amounts to little. They have no sorcery.”
“Let’s see what they can tell us.”
Bluntnose left her seat on the cargo hatch, joined Februaren and the ascendant. Februaren wondered how he knew the Aelen Kofer was female. What cue had he caught? He could not find it consciously. She said, “These people are desperate to cooperate. They understand their situation. We’ve fed them. They know we could stop. Also, they lost many friends and relations because of the Windwalker.”
Februaren asked, “Do you know who I am, Bluntnose?”
“Yes.” With a certain reserved disdain for even the most lethal of middle-worlders.
The Ninth Unknown winked. “Then tell them who I am, sweetheart.” While she did, he told the ascendant, “They don’t look much recovered.”
“They were in bad shape to begin. I didn’t think they’d make it. The Aelen Kofer worked some deep magic but you can tell from the missing bits that frostbite was too far along for even dwarf magic.”
The ascendant related what the Seatts had reported so far. Which was that the Windwalker was angry and hungry. “Pretty much his normal state, though maybe more so now because he knows what we’re doing.”
Bluntnose said, “I told them, wizard. Your name failed to strike terror.”
“That’s a pity.” Using Bluntnose to translate, he interrogated the Seatts.
From the barge Februaren could see the cliffs of ice away toward Andoray. He saw shapes and shadows atop them. The ascendant followed his gaze, captured his thought. “He’s getting close. We have to try a new tack. Soon.”
“Something is being done. To buy some time.”
Bluntnose said, “They want to know how long we intend to hold them. They don’t want to be here when the Windwalker comes.”
“They won’t be. One way or another.”
“What?” Bluntnose turned to see what had the others’ jaws dropping.
A fishing smack had appeared outside the gateway. It headed in.
The ascendant said, “Get Iron Eyes. Tell him to bring everybody he can. It’ll take some serious artificing to handle this.”
Februaren saw nothing worth excitement. Other than that the smack’s approach was deliberate.
Typically, in myth, visitors to the Realm of the Gods did not arrive of their own accord. Not until recently. But lately a rush had developed.
Korban Jarneyn and a dozen weighty henchdwarves turned up implausibly fast. Iron Eyes explained, “We felt them cross over.”
The Ninth Unknown could now distinguish the “them.” “I’ve heard of these things. Though never of more than one in one place at a time.”
The boat was filled with Krepnights, the Elect. Februaren got a different count each time he tried a census. The average was a dozen. So many that the boat had almost no freeboard. Februaren could not imagine how it had made the crossing without swamping.
Aelen Kofer kept turning up, each as heavily armed as an individual dwarf could be. They brought along all the magic they could manage, too.
There were a surprising number of dwarves. Many more than had made the climb with Februaren and Iron Eyes.
They were getting ready for something.
Likewise, the ascendant. He had backed off to have more room as he experimented with several ferocious shapes.
An unpleasant animal musk preceded the smack. It reminded Februaren of the den of something large and filthy. A bear, perhaps.
“No fooling around here,” Iron Eyes said, apparently to himself. He rattled orders in a language Februaren did not understand.
The boat lurched up out of the water. It continued landward at the same steady pace but climbed higher and higher.
Iron Eyes barked a command that had to be, “Now!”
The boat fell. From eighty feet, it plunged to the quay. Pieces and things were still scattering when the Aelen Kofer swarmed the impact site.
Februaren said, “Try to save a couple for questioning.”
“Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs, mortal.”
The butchery did not last long. Nine hairless, tiger striped things ended up dismembered and, before long, consigned to a bonfire built special to accommodate them. Three captives suffered hamstringing. They could neither flee nor fight.
They would not talk. It was unclear whether they could if they wanted.
“This is a puzzle beyond me,” Iron Eyes said. “These things are constructs. Not unlike a number of mythical creatures the gods made to amuse themselves. Only, these are deadly tools. They have no feelings, no fears, no insides, nothing but an obsessed determination to execute the will of the Windwalker. Who breathed just enough of himself into each to give it the strength to do what he wants done.”
Februaren went to the ascendant, who seemed determined to turn into a giant jumping crab. He had not participated in the reduction of the striped creatures. “Any way you could look inside those things?”
The ascendant seemed surprised by the question, then irked. “Why would you ask that?”